


Malfunctioning

by owlaholic68



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 1, Fallout 2
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Gen, Ghoulification, Ghouls, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Solitary Confinement, Swearing, Vault 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: The end of the world is just the beginning of Lenny’s story, but nothing is without its pitfalls. Everything's breaking. Everything's falling apart.





	1. Vault 12

Lenny is one of the last people inside. As soon as him, his father, and a handful of other lucky survivors get through the door, the man who must be the Overseer waves at a wide-eyed technician, who hits a series of buttons on her console.

There’s a series of creaking sounds, then a metallic groan as the large vault door separates from the wall and starts to roll over the opening. The door is more than two yards thick, the paper had said. It’s engraved with a large 12 in the center.

Halfway through its path, when they can still see the fires outside burning through the gaps in the large gear-like teeth, something in the door groans and the whole structure stutters.

“What’s going on?” The Overseer snaps. Lenny’s heart is in his throat, and he knows he’s still crying like he has been ever since they started running for the safety of the Vault.

“I’m working on it,” the technician says, hitting a few more buttons and turning a dial.

Miraculously, the door starts moving again. It slides into place with a solid-sounding thunk.

“I’m not sure what happened in the middle, but it’s closed now.” The technician verifies some displays, then nods decisively at the Overseer. “We’re safe.”

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

* * *

“This will be your workstation,” the Overseer says, waving Lenny into the clinic. It’s empty in here, but they passed almost ten people outside in various states of distress, all asking for a doctor.

“Wh-what shift?” Lenny asks, trying to calm his breathing. It’s been an hour since he got in here, and he’s still freaking out. He needs to stop stuttering. He needs to get himself together. He takes another deep breath and looks around the space, the familiar environment calming him. “Who else am I w-working with?”

“Vault-Tec was supposed to send us a doctor, but she didn’t make it to the Vault. A transit issue, from what I’ve heard.” The Overseer claps Lenny on the shoulder and almost makes him stumble. “It’s just you, son.”

He walks away, leaving Lenny alone in the clinic. _Just_ him? He’s only a few years out of medical school. He was planning on starting his own practice in a few years. What’s more, there are children here. Two or three pregnant women. People with diseases and problems that he will certainly have no idea how to fix.

But Lenny is a doctor. And he didn’t choose that profession to sit around and bemoan his lack of experience or resources. He needs to help. He needs to do this, because there’s no one else who can.

* * *

“Wish we could take a look at one o’ those fancy Pip-Boys,” Lenny’s father says one night. They’re in the quarters they share with two other people, but tonight it’s just them. Willie on the top bunk, Lenny on the bottom.

“It said in the a-advertisement that we’d get them immediately,” Lenny muses, looking up from reading a book from the Vault library. “It’s only been one week. Maybe they meant in a month, or when we were cleared for leaving.”

His father, Willie, scoffs, and Lenny can hear him turn over. “Still. I’d like one anyways.”

* * *

“Radiation sickness? Still?” Lenny frowns and pulls out a thermometer. “August, I thought you said that was done w-with last week.”

August, a middle-aged woman, miserably nods with the thermometer in her mouth. She looks pale and exhausted.

Lenny takes the thermometer. “You’ve got a fever.” He checks his files. “It’s w-worse than last time. You said you’ve been vomiting more, and your h-hair is starting to fall out?” He receives confirmation, another tired nod.

These symptoms were not unusual the first week they were in the Vault. Almost everyone had been exposed to small amounts of radiation in the minutes before they got to safety. But what is concerning is that those symptoms disappeared, and now they’re back. For no reason. There’s no radiation in here.

“Take the w-week off,” he says with as much authority as he can muster. “I’ll give you a blood transfusion tomorrow, that should get you back on your feet. I’ll let the Overseer know so he can switch the door guard rotations to cover. And g-get some rest.”

“Can do, Doc,” August says, giving him a weak smile. “It might be just some residual sickness.”

* * *

“Be more careful around the reactor, then,” Lenny says, starting to feel irritated. He’s slow to anger, but he’s had the _worst_ headache for the last day, and people just keep coming in with complaints. Minor ones, but they add up.

“I am,” Festus argues. “Hank’s always going on about safety procedures. We’re being perfectly safe. Are you sure it’s radiation and not just some bug going around?”

Lenny’s _sure._ He gustily sighs and runs a hand through his hair. A big chunk of hair comes out onto his palm. He swallows hard. “I’m sure.”

* * *

The Overseer makes an announcement, and he wants Lenny to talk during it. Give personal advice on the matter and reassure everyone that he’ll be there to tend to anyone feeling seriously ill.

“We suspect an issue either with the core reactor or with the Vault door,” he says, projecting an incredibly convincing air of confidence for someone who was shaking when Lenny had told him about the issue. “In the meantime, please stay away from those areas while we investigate. We are in the process of unlocking the Pip-Boys to access their built-in Geiger Counter function, and when that happens, we’ll know for sure. For now, please follow all directions that our good Doctor gives you.”

That’s Lenny’s cue. He steps to the microphone and grabs the sides of the podium with shaking hands. Lenny _hates_ public speaking. He always has. Even without his stutter, he’s self-conscious, nervous about saying the wrong thing.

“Hello,” he nervously says, and gets a few nervous laughs in return. There’s just so many people here, and it’s only a fraction of the Vault’s population. A hundred people in this room, and the remaining nine hundred listening in through the loudspeaker system. “The doses of r-radiation seem to be low enough to not be fatal, but still p-please come to me with any concerns. Normal symptoms are dizziness, nausea, abdominal pain, mild fever, h-headaches, and hair falling out. Anything more serious than that could be i-indicative of higher doses and will require immediate treatment.” He clears his throat. So far, so good. “And be more c-careful about sanitation. We all are at g-greater risk for infection right now. Thank you. That is all.”

Finally, he steps back from the podium and takes a seat. He tunes out the rest of the Overseer’s speech. It’s hard not to admit to the crowd of people relying on him that in reality, the dosage is worryingly high, and there’s nothing Lenny can do to save someone from dying from radiation.

* * *

The first person dies two days later. It’s an old woman. She’s carried to Lenny’s door with blood in her mouth, and within minutes she’s gone.

The next day, two more old people die. A child comes into the clinic with serious symptoms and stays overnight.

The child dies two days later, along with two more people.

“You didn’t each lunch again, son.” Willie stops by with a tray for Lenny.

“Thanks, Dad,” he absently replies. He’s pushing through his third day without sleep, and his fifth day with splitting headaches. Lenny barely stops to eat before he’s back researching possible cures, testing alternate treatments, anything that might work, or at least dull the victims’ pain.

It’s useless. He’s useless.

* * *

“It’s the door,” the Overseer confides in him one day. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls out long strands, tossing them in the nearby trash can. “We don’t need a Geiger Counter to figure it out. Which is good, because we still haven’t gotten to the Pip-Boys. But the door, it didn’t close properly. We can’t figure out how to fix it and fully close it.”

Lenny, taking his pulse, frowns. When he pulls his fingers away, large flakes of skin come off. “H-How long has your skin been falling off?”

“It started this morning.” The Overseer sighs, barely managing to sit up straight. “Lenny, we can’t open the door either. Until we get the all-clear or we figure out how to force it open, we’re stuck in here.”

Stuck until they all die. Lenny doesn’t know what to say to that. He clutches his stethoscope to his chest and waits until the Overseer leaves before he starts crying. He drags the palms of his hands down his cheeks and skin sloughs off, and it hurts and everything’s falling apart and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

* * *

A month passes. Out of the thousand people that Vault 12 started with, less than four hundred remain, and that number is dwindling fast. Out of every twenty-five deaths, twenty people die of radiation poisoning itself, another four perish from infections of various wounds. Then there’s at least one that just can’t handle the stress, the fear of waiting for their turn to die, and they get sick of the _waiting_ part.

Lenny doesn’t really blame them.

Right now, he is alone in the Block 14 men’s bathrooms, staring at his reflection. He traces his bony index finger over the spot where his nose used to be. Cellular degradation is eating at his previously round cheeks. His deep eyes have sunk back into their sockets and have turned pale and eerie-looking. His lack of hair is hardly worth mentioning; that was the first thing to go. His voice is raw and raspy, and it’s a struggle, between that and the stutter that’s been steadily coming back, to make himself understood.

Lenny zips down his Vault suit to look at the rest of his body. He’s always been small, but now he’s all bones. Tenacious scraps of skin are clinging to his thighs and stomach, and he’s retained the most bodily material surrounding his core organs, which is relatively good. If Lenny had to choose a place _not_ to wither away, it would be in that area. He looks like a zombie from a cheesy monster flick, if there were doctor zombies. He’s wasting away, and he’s one of the better-looking survivors of this cursed Vault.

But he’s still alive. He’s not dead yet.

* * *

Water usage has gone down in the Vault, because nobody’s taking showers. Festus had come into the clinic screaming between gritted teeth, blood pouring from broken-open scabs, trailing water and blood and torn-off skin. Lenny orders no showers after that until everyone’s skin, or what’s left of it, has healed. If it ever will.

* * *

Three months, and the first person goes feral. It’s one of the younger men.

In the middle of a medical exam, Lenny notices that his patient is starting to get restless. “A-Are you okay?” He reaches out with his left hand and touches their disfigured shoulder.

The guy snarls and spits saliva. He screams in Lenny’s face and grabs his left wrist, twisting it with a violent crack. Then he grabs Lenny and bodily throws him across the clinic. His head hits the edge of the bed and his vision sparks.

Lenny is screaming, both in pain from his injured wrist and for help, for guards, anyone. People must be nearby, and they hear the urgency in his voice. Two guards round the corner and grab the feral man, dragging him away. Another two people help Lenny to his feet.

“Strap h-him down,” Lenny orders, pointing at the bed. He needs to study this man and figure out what went wrong. He has the sinking feeling that this will not be the first case of this. While they strap the writhing man down, he sticks his throbbing wrist under the x-ray scanner, and fights back nausea at how bad the image looks, at how shattered and skewed his bones are.

But he has a job to do. Lenny sticks a Stimpack into his arm and cradles that hand to his chest. For all he knows, more people could be going feral right now. He needs to find out what’s causing this.

* * *

Lenny will never figure it out. What he _will_ discover, though, is that in two days, without any medical intervention, his wrist is completely healed. The bones have reset themselves, and all fractures have resealed. There’s some lingering achiness, but nothing serious.

“Radiation h-heals us now,” Lenny muses, showing Typhon his wrist. Typhon’s irritable father, Set, puts a hand on his bony chin and inspects the hand. “At l-least, I- I think so. That, or it- it’s because of the same m-m-mutation that let u-us survive.”

“Hey, that sounds interesting. How about we do an experiment?” Set proposes, reaching out to grab Lenny’s wrist.

“An e-experiment?” Lenny doesn’t like the sound of that. He half-heartedly tries to tug his hand away, but without any force behind it.

Across the Vault cafeteria, one of the young women goes feral, and they momentarily pause to watch as a guard drags her away. It’s enough of a distraction that Lenny’s attention is diverted from their earlier topic of conversation.

That is, until Typhon screams, “Dad!” and starts forward.

Lenny whips his head around and flinches, but too late. Set drives a steak knife into Lenny’s forearm with a sickening _thunk_ as it hits bone. Pain explodes in his arm like a million steak knives, shooting down to his fingertips and up to his shoulder.

The cavernous room falls silent, because that’s what happens when someone screams bloody murder in the middle of the cafeteria.

“What the _fuck.”_ The Overseer, previously unnoticed by them, runs over. “Doc, are you okay?”

“Dad?” Typhon grabs his father’s shoulder. “Dad, what are you _doing?”_

Set grins and lets go of the knife and Lenny’s arm. “Like I said, an experiment. Now let’s get down to the reactor and see if that will speed up the process.” He gives the Overseer an unimpressed look. “Maybe we’ll actually figure _something_ out that can help us, instead of sitting on our asses and trying to wish away the problem.”

“You shouldn’t do experiments on our _only_ doctor,” the Overseer admonishes, ignoring the implied insult. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Set shrugs. “Then we’ll learn that we were wrong. Now let’s get going before our dear old Doc fuckin’ dies of blood loss.” He grabs Lenny by his uninjured arm and hauls him up and towards the door.

Lenny wrenches his arm out of Set’s slimy grasp. He gives his best glare, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s visibly shaking. Blood is seeping through his fingers where he’s keeping pressure on the wound, and tears are rolling down his hollowed cheeks. He feels sick, and not just from blood loss, but he follows Set down to the reactor, Typhon and the Overseer following.

The reactor is oddly hot. Has it always been warm, or can Lenny feel the radiation surrounding it? He hesitates in front of the secured door that leads into the danger zone. But as Lenny peeks through the window, he realizes that someone else is already in there. Through the glass of the airlock, Lenny nods at Festus to open the door.

“Hank? What are you doing in here?”

Hank, one of the reactor technicians, looks up at Lenny. He’s sitting against the wall with his legs stretched out. “Oh, Lenny. I don’ really know, it just feels good in here. Warm.”

“O-Okay?” Lenny’s not sure if that’s good or very bad.

“What are you doin’ in here, then, Doc?”

Lenny shows him his arm, which has stopped hurting. “Uh-” He glances at the opaque wall separating this dangerously radioactive area from the viewing and maintenance room. “C-Can we be h-heard in here?”

“Nah. Shielding’s too thick. What’s up? Somethin’ wrong?”

Lenny nods, then realizes his wound is starting to close up. With a wince, he yanks out the knife before it gets stuck. “Set stabbed me. An ‘e-experiment’, he said. I’m w-worried that he’s getting frustrated with the O-Overseer, and that h-he might make a move for power.”

Something in Hank’s face has turned dark. “I’m more worried ‘bout the fact that he fuckin’ _stabbed_ you out of nowhere, Lenny. You watch him, and if there’s any more problems, Festus and I are on your side. So are most people in the Vault, honestly. You’ve helped us all a lot-”

“No I h-haven’t,” Lenny protests, “I h-haven’t been able to do anything-”

“Nonsense.” Hank leans back and basks in the glow of the reactor, closing his eyes and stretching out his legs. “You’ve stayed calm and you haven’t up and abandoned the post, even though it was never supposed to be yours to begin with. You’ve been working hard to try and solve an impossible problem. You haven’t given up yet, and that means more to all of us than you might think. If you haven’t given up, we shouldn’t either.”

When Hank opens his eyes again, they’re glowing. Lenny swallows hard and approaches.

“What?” Hank notices him staring. “What’s wrong?”

Lenny kneels at Hank’s side. Distantly, he notices his arm doesn’t hurt at all anymore, and the wound has completely closed. Guess he was right about the radiation healing after all. “Your e-eyes are glowing, H-Hank.”

Hank shrugs. “So? Radiation makes stuff glow.”

“I’m w-worried, though. Come up to the c-clinic in a few h-hours and I’ll check it out.” Lenny pats Hank on the shoulder and stands. “I m-mean it. I just w-want to make sure nothing’s seriously w-wrong.”

“If you insist, Doc.”

With one last look over his shoulder, Lenny leaves the reactor and goes back into the colder outer room.

“Well?” Set demands, standing with his arms crossed.

“Are you okay?” The Overseer asks, frowning.

Lenny squares his shoulders and straightens his back. He looks Set in the eyes and, with his now healed arm, hands back the knife, handle first. He says nothing, brushing past Set and Typhon. He doesn’t have time to sit here and get mad at people. He has a job to do.

* * *

December 16, 2083. Six years since the Vault closed, and they finally figured out how to open the Vault door.

In those six years, much has changed. The Vault’s population has stabilized. Roughly One hundred people remain. Out of those hundred, eighty are “normal” ghouls (as they’d started calling themselves), ten are “Glowing Ones” (Hank and Typhon included), and about ten are feral but not aggressive towards the others. Lenny’s current theory is that everyone is so mutated by the radiation that the ferals no longer see them as any different.

Lenny’s at the door when it opens with an ominous creaking sound, the metal groaning and screeching. He puts his hands over where his ears used to be, wincing as light starts to fill the dim room.

A grim sight awaits them. A pile of corpses are heaped in front of the door, some of the skeletons reaching for the door. People had tried to get in when the bombs dropped, and they hadn’t made it. Not that they would have been safe, anyways.

“This is a momentous day,” the Overseer says, turning to face the assembled group. Only some of them are going out today, the rest staying behind to prepare for a larger move to the surface. “Finally, we shall see the surface again, after so many years. And now, we are…changed by this. We will be able to live without difficulty thanks to these changes. Now, let us go and face this new world!”

But of course, living on the surface was never going to be as easy at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vault-Tec: Oopsies we didn't send you a doctor, and woopsy-daisy you don't have access to the Pip-Boys, so conveniently you don't have any Geiger Counters...Oops?


	2. Necropolis

March 23, 2084. The odd weather patterns of this new world have changed, indicating that spring has begun. It’s warmer, and Lenny thinks he might be able to coax some of the Glowing Ones out with the promise of warmth.

The Glowing Ones had stayed behind in the Vault, citing the cold outside as being uncomfortable. They all prefer to hang out near the reactor. Lenny had long figured out that it wouldn’t hurt them. Those that glowed had a special quirk in their mutation that made their bodies not filter out all the radiation, instead letting it build up in their bloodstream and causing bioluminescence.

This spring, tensions have started to rise along with the temperatures. Reclaiming the ruins of Bakersfield has been an agonizingly slow process, thanks to the caution of the Overseer. It’s always good to be cautious, but according to some, this restrained pace is getting ridiculous.

 _Some_ includes Set, of course, who never had been satisfied with the Overseer. He’s been quiet about his opinions, but now is becoming bolder and louder. This spring, things come to a head.

Thankfully, Lenny isn’t there. Because he’s known as a neutral mediator, he’d have been drawn into the conflict. People trust him. Even the Glowing Ones, who have started pulling away from the rest of the group, welcome him. He’s helped people. He hasn’t given up, not yet. What Lenny never says is that he wants to give up and be done with this, so badly.

The Vault’s extensive medical library helps with that, gives a name to the feeling they all share. Lenny has quickly picked up an elementary understanding of mental illnesses and how to treat them. Out of the surviving ghouls, fifty percent have clinical depression, and forty percent have some form of anxiety. An uncountable number have PTSD from the bombs dropping, the changes, the hellish couple of years before everything stabilized, before they got used to this new life.

Lenny is down in the Vault visiting Hank when it all goes down, so he doesn’t know anything’s happened until he gets back up.

“Ah, Doc! There you are!” Before Lenny can duck away, Set throws an arm around his shoulders and grips tight. Set is much taller and broader than the other ghouls, and Lenny finds himself unable to squirm away.

Behind Set is a heavily armed bodyguard – Grant or Garret, Lenny has never really talked to the man before. People are giving them a wide berth. From an alleyway near the water pump, Willie stiffens when he sees his son in Set’s grip, frowning at them. He gives Lenny a look that implies he’s ready to interfere if something goes wrong. Lenny very much appreciates it, because a sinking feeling is settling in his withered bones.

“Now, Lenny, how did you feel about our Overseer, that _useless_ motherfucker?”

How _did_ Lenny feel, not how _does_ he feel. Past tense, not present. Lenny’s stomach drops. He’s a known friend to all, and the Overseer had always liked him. His father’s worried face confirms his suspicions. Set has made a move, and he’s not squeamish about making sure the Overseer has no remaining sympathizers that might undermine his control.

Set tightens his grip, making Lenny wince. “Doc,” he warns.

“U-U-He w-was u-useless-” Lenny stammers, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

“I knew you thought so!” Set’s voice, in comparison, is booming and loud. “I thought it was time for a change in management, make sure that fucker can’t screw us over even more than he already has!” He leans a little too close for Lenny’s comfort, not that any distance is a good distance for Set. “And I knew I’d have your support.”

That’s a threat, not a statement. Lenny hurriedly nods. He hasn’t gotten this far in life by recklessly defying tyrants, and he’s not about to start now. Often, the best way to make sure people don’t get hurt is to make sure he’s in the room when decisions are being made. That way, he can influence the decision, and if that fails, at least warn those who it affects. If Set decides to push away the Glowing Ones even further, they’ll at least have a warning.

“Good.” Set squeezes his shoulder, then finally lets him go. “I’ll see you around, Doc.”

* * *

“He’s not dead,” Festus mutters when Lenny quietly asks him about the incident later. “Set let him go, probably to pretend he’s not a heartless bastard. Headed north. But you know the old Overseer. He’s not coming back. He’s not going to try and regain control.”

Festus, like Hank, has always been on Lenny’s side, if there was such a thing. Festus was the main reactor technician, and general handyman for the Vault. This had given him a big head, making him think he was the most important, most invaluable, completely replaceable person in the whole Vault. Lenny, sitting with him in the bedroom they share with Willie, tries not to scrunch up his face muscles like he would have wrinkled his nose. Festus, still traumatized from the shower incident, refuses to participate in the weekly dust baths and wipe-downs that they’ve implemented. Their new method of staying clean isn’t perfect, but it keeps the worst of the stink at bay, and stops infections.

“And watch Garret, the bodyguard,” Festus warns. “He never did much openly in the Vault, but he was known for being a ruthless son of a bitch.”

Lenny nods. Lay low and stay calm. Go along with whatever Set says. Keep himself alive. Keep everyone alive.

* * *

Twenty years later, people start passing through. Non-mutated humans, part of caravans. Set doesn’t trust them, and orders everyone to stay inside and hidden. They’ve got systems of sewer tunnels they use in radstorms, so everyone camps out until the people leave.

The ferals have killed one of them. Evidently, the humans had fled, leaving what looks like a dead caravan guard behind. Set orders the body dragged away.

“We don’t want trouble with these people,” he says during a meeting with the settlement. “We cause trouble, and people with guns start coming to take us out. We can’t stop the ferals, but we just need to stay hidden. They’ll stop bothering us.”

Lenny’s not so sure, but he keeps his mouth shut. Couldn’t they try to peacefully trade with these people? Why do they have to duck their heads and live in fear?

* * *

Fifty years after that, the super mutants arrive.

Time has started to mean nothing to the former inhabitants of Vault 12. Nobody uses calendars anymore. Lenny is in the Vault clinic, which is starting to become dilapidated. The only remaining elevator is on the fritz. Nobody’s maintaining the equipment. But the clinic is clean, at least. He’s trying to figure out why they’re living so long. Don’t people affected by radiation die sooner rather than later? Nobody seems to be aging, at least not significantly.

Overhead, distantly, the rattle of gunfire echoes down the sewer tunnels. The clinic is right next to the Vault entrance, so Lenny hears. He frowns and raises his head from his research. What’s going on? Normally visitors hurry through, whispering about this creepy abandoned place, which they’ve nicknamed “Necropolis”. City of the Dead.

But somebody is attacking right now. It sounds bad. Lenny shoulders a first aid bag and rushes out the Vault door, which had been left ajar. No reason to close it now, since they knew it would do no good. A few Glowing Ones look up as he passes, then lower their heads and shuffle along.

In the years since Set had tightened his grip on the ghouls living in Necropolis, people have started squirreling themselves away in the sewers. It’s safer down here, and not just from the wasteland terrors. Down here, you could hide from anyone and anything. Even Set didn’t know these tunnels as well as the inhabitants.

Out of the hundred surviving ghouls, roughly fifteen lived down here in groups of three or four. Lenny passes one group as he runs toward the nearest exit.

“What’s goin’ on?” One of them rasps.

“Don’t know,” Lenny calls over his shoulder. “L-Lay low.”

He’s in the sewers under the Watershed. It sounds like most of the fighting is coming from further down by the Hall, so Lenny decides to come up here. This manhole leads to just behind the main water building. They had a functioning pump and plenty of storage.

It’s clear, but Lenny can still hear gunfire. It’s nearing dusk, and the streets are darkening. But even in the dim light, he can still see a body laying at the corner of the building, blood pooled underneath it. Someone dead, or injured. They might need help. Keeping one eye on his surroundings, Lenny shuffles over and kneels at their side.

Closer, in better light, it’s a ghoul, obviously dead. What is going _on_ here?

Lenny had stopped paying close attention to his surroundings, and he pays for it. He hears the dull thud of heavy footsteps and whirls, but too late. Something hard and metallic _whaps_ against his head, and he finds himself on the ground, skull pounding and vision blurring.

He needs to _get up._ Lenny groans and holds his head, making a brief effort to stand before abandoning it to dizziness. Concussion. He turns too fast and nausea rises, but now he sees his attacker.

Not a human. Not a ghoul. Not an animal. Something else. It’s big, twice as large as Lenny, and broad, muscular. A sickly green color with bared teeth and a large baseball bat in one hand. The baseball bat has barbed wire covering it. Lenny touches his head. There’s blood there. Not just a concussion, then. Add head injury to the list.

“Wh-Who are you?” He squeaks, scrambling backwards as the beast approaches. “Wh-What are you?”

The creature stops and stares at Lenny. “My name Terry. Boss says we called super mutants.” Terry deeply frowns. “Not supposed to leave alive. But you a…doctor?” Lenny is wearing his battered lab coat over his Vault suit.

Lenny quickly nods. “Y-yeah, I’m a doctor, I’m f-from the V-Vault-”

Terry starts forward and Lenny flinches. “The Vault! That why we here, to take humans from Vault!”

“That’s us!” Lenny points at himself. “We g-got mutated, but w-we’re the original Vault d-dwellers!”

“Hm. Take you to Harry.” Terry walks forward and Lenny, faced with the hulking mass looming over him, freezes.

Lenny decides to do what he does best in these sorts of situations: stay calm and try not to get killed. He lets Terry haul him up by his arm, a little rougher than is probably necessary. Either that or super mutants simply didn’t understand how fragile normal people were.

Terry takes him into the main water building. “Harry,” he calls out in a guttural voice.

“What?” The largest super mutant in the room turns with a snarl. “Terry. No prisoners.” He raises a wickedly spiked club.

“Wait!” Terry holds up a hand. He shakes Lenny’s arm. “Tell him.”

Faced with a terrifying visage of death, Lenny stutters his way through an explanation. When he finishes and trails away, Harry leans close. Instinctively, Lenny steps back as the super mutant gets a little _too_ close. But that is apparently not cool with Harry, who grabs Lenny around the chest to keep him still. The hulking monster’s hand almost wraps all the way around his gaunt torso.

“Hm.” Harry snaps his head up to glower at his companions. “Ceasefire!” He orders, then glares down at Lenny. “You the leader?”

Lenny frantically shakes his head. “N-No, Set is the l-leader.” And never has he been so glad of the fact.

“We find Set.” Harry lifts Lenny off the ground with all the effort of lifting a half-full toolbox. He strides out the front door of the Watershed. Lenny focuses on breathing shallowly and not freaking out. He’s doing okay on the former, not so much on the latter.

Out here, Lenny counts ten dead ghouls. Half are feral, but the rest aren’t. They have so few people to start with, and now this…

“Set!” Harry bellows to a group of ghouls taking cover behind a nearby building. “Me want Set! Neg-o-ciate ceasefire!”

When Harry gets no reply, he growls and squeezes his hand. Lenny whimpers and hears something crack, a sharp pain radiating out from his ribs. Even though they heal fast, ghouls have fragile bones.

From behind a building, someone pushes Set forward. “Hey!” He snaps, turning towards the person who pushed him. Then he straightens his clothing and reluctantly walks towards Harry and Lenny. He glares at Lenny, who stares back and tries to communicate the word _coward_ through eye contact alone.

“I’m Set,” he says.

Harry huffs and nods. “We neg-o-ciate inside.” Without hardly a glance at Lenny, he tosses him to the ground. This aggravates his likely broken ribs even more, and the throbbing of his head injury increases. Someone helps him up, though he can hardly see but for the double vision clouding his eyes.

“Fuck, Doc, are you okay?” Festus asks. He must be the one helping him back to the group of huddled ghouls. He sets Lenny on the ground, leaning him up against a wall.

“F-Fine,” Lenny mutters. He fumbles for his first aid kit still slung over his shoulder. A Stimpack to his head, the most worrying injury, then he starts bandaging that, wincing as raising his arms pulls at his ribs. “H-How many dead?”

In the dim light, Festus looks grim. Willie joins them. “Don’t know yet, son,” he says. “Fifteen non-ferals at least, plus some injured. We’re doing our best to stabilize them, but…”

But they need Lenny.

“Give me a m-minute,” he says, breathing shallowly. There’s no time for proper healing. He needs to be on his feet _now._ First, he wraps some medical tape from his breastbone around to the back on his left side, where it feels like there’s a fracture. Then, he wads up some rags and puts it against the wound area, wrapping layers of bandages around that to keep it in place. If only they had ice packs to dull the pain…

But they don’t. They have what they have, and they’ll have to make do with that. With one hand on the wall, Lenny drags himself to standing, ignoring his friends’ hands on his shoulders helping steady him.

“Are you sure-” Festus rarely sounds worried, but he looks like he very much wants Lenny to sit back down.

“I’m s-sure. Take me to the p-patients.” Lenny needs to get back to work. He has people to save.

* * *

Things are far from good. The “peace” they’ve negotiated goes like this:

The super mutants control the water. If the ghouls step out of line, they’re killed. It’s not much of a peace, but it’s all that Set was able to negotiate. Set may feel like he’s gained more power through this, but that’s not quite accurate. If anything, his authority has diminished. People don’t trust him anymore.

Now, for some goddamned reason, they turn to Lenny. But Lenny’s not a _leader._ He’s a doctor, and not even a great one at that. But he does what he can to manage the situation. First step is to start smuggling people down to the sewers. One of the super mutants is guarding the Watershed entrance and another is keeping an eye on the Hall manhole, but there are several other entrances that the mutants don’t know about.

There are only sixty non-feral ghouls left, not including the handful of Glowing Ones in the Vault. Lenny sneaks ghouls down in groups of two about every four months, to draw less attention. He’s had to spread it out in the last year, because the mutants have started getting suspicious. The underground ghouls use the Vault’s water system to stay alive, and the small amount of food they need is supplied by the Vault too.

Lenny has to stay on the surface, or the mutants will start getting suspicious if he’s gone too long. They’re starting to suspect him of being up to something. He can escape to the Vault with the excuse of doing research, but only for a few hours a day.

It’s tense. Lenny hardly sleeps. This precipitates a new discovery: ghouls don’t need much sleep. He’s gotten five hours in as many days, and isn’t feeling much strain. This could be useful.

* * *

Four years pass, and things haven’t changed much. The mutants still occupy the Watershed, the ghouls still hide in the Hall and the sewers.

But one very important thing _has_ changed: the water pump is broken. The underground ghouls are fine, surviving off the Vault. But all the surface dwellers have is whatever they’d stored in the Shed. Lenny sneaks up water when he can, but it’s a band-aid over a foot-long laceration.

Fifty ghouls are left. Some have died from diseases and accidents, others by the mutants’ hands.

A bell ringing signals the time for water rationing. But today is not going to go like the other days. Instead of filing the surface ghouls through the hallway of the Watershed, Harry makes them line up in the courtyard.

“You. Gary.” He points at one of his underlings. “Count.”

It takes the mutant a minute to count, but he manages, because it’s not a very high number. Lenny is starting to sweat a little under Harry’s suspicious glare.

“Sixteen.” Gary steps back.

“Sixteen,” Harry repeats. “Should be more. _Much_ more.” He stalks down the line, looking at each person in turn. He stops in front of Lenny. Lenny stares at his feet, breathing starting to come faster. “Where are rest? Me not see them. Me think somebody _hide_ them.”

He grabs Lenny’s arm and tugs him forward. “Me think that somebody is _you.”_

“N-No-” Lenny starts to stammer an excuse, a denial, but stops. There’s no point. Harry _knows._ Instead he raises his head and musters up a defiant glare. Behind him, he’s aware of Festus holding his father back from interfering. Good. It’s _his_ consequences to bear, not anyone else’s.

His resolve cracks when Harry tows him into the Watershed building. Where is – what is – is Harry not going to just kill him right away, like he did with all other troublemakers? Harry drags Lenny down the main hallway and past the pathetically broken water pump, past the large storage vats, towards the-

Oh. Towards the three cells at the back of the building. Lenny digs his heels in, but to no avail. Harry throws open the middle cell door, pushes Lenny inside, then slams the door shut. He fastens a padlock and gives the cell door a good rattle to ensure its security.

Then he leaves, and Lenny doesn’t see anyone for a long time.

* * *

The cell is small. It’s chilly, the late February wind blowing through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Lenny had briefly considered trying to pry off the boards, but it would be too loud. Besides, there are guards outside in the courtyard. In one corner of the cell is what could be optimistically considered a mattress and a scrap of a blanket. The rest of the cell is empty.

Through the heavy metal door, Lenny can hear voices sometimes. He can’t get up high enough to see through the grate at the top, but he can crouch and look through the flap in the bottom. All he can see is the corner of a wall and the side of a vat.

Day One, Lenny paces around the small space and tries to find a way out.

Day Two, they bring him a cupful of water. He forces himself to only drink half, and saves the rest for later. Who knows when they’re going to bring more? They’re dangerously low on water reserves. He might not get more. They might forget about him in here.

Day Three, Lenny starts hearing things. Buzzing and ringing in his ears that he can’t shut out, voices of long-dead friends. He can’t sleep. He paces and keeps moving, keeps walking. They bring him more water. They don’t want him to die, at least.

Day Four. He starts talking to himself, nonsense babbling and one-sided conversations.

Day Five. He presses himself against the boarded-up window and listens to the irradiated rain hitting the ground and pounding against the ramshackle roof. His cell doesn’t leak, a small mercy.

Day Six, he stops moving and lies down. Once he does, all he can do is stare at the wall. He’s going mad in here. It takes every scrap of rationality to not tear at the last remaining scraps of his skin, to not gouge out his cheeks. Instead he hallucinates all sorts of wild and fleeting things that he can barely latch onto. He sleeps shallowly, hands fisted in the scratchy blanket so he doesn’t drag his fingernails down the insides of his elbows.

Day Seven, he stands up again and starts pacing, this time frantic and wild. He can’t stay in here much longer without losing it. He’d read studies of solitary confinement before the war, mostly in a vain effort to figure out a way to heal the mental trauma it caused. That form of punishment was one of the government’s favorite, other than simple executions. But there was nothing to be done. Sooner or longer, the prisoner couldn’t cope with the isolation.

Lenny hasn’t gotten this far by giving up. He needs to keep going. A naïve part of his mind hopes that there will be a light at the end of this tunnel. All he needs to do is make it there to see it.

* * *

Day Eight, Lenny gets an unexpected visitor.

A shadow in front of the door, and then a scratching as someone, or something, tries to unlock the door. Then more scratches, and a muttered curse. Lenny perks up. That’s not the sound of a super mutant. That’s a _human,_ and they’re picking the lock. Is this a hallucination? It sure doesn’t feel like it.

The door opens and Lenny’s brain stutters to a stop. One of the most _fun_ effects of solitary confinement, from what he’d studied: once you were offered freedom, often taking any sort of step forward is near-impossible.

“Hey, are you okay?” A woman whispers, crouching in the doorway. Her form is hard to see in the dim light, just a dark silhouette. But underneath a charcoal-gray sweater, Lenny can see the distinctive bright colors of a Vault suit. A Vault Dweller? Here? Why?

Lenny can’t find the words to speak, so he nods.

“Okay, I’m goin’ to go now,” the dark-haired woman says, voice barely louder than a breath. She must have snuck in here. “Any idea how to get down t’ the Vault?”

Lenny nods again, then leads the way out of the cell. He doesn’t think about what he’s doing, even as every signal in his brain is screaming. Focus on the task at hand. Ignore how much he wants to turn around and hide away in that cell. Get down to the Vault. He points at the adjacent cell to his own, and the woman unlocks it. Inside is a manhole leading down to the sewers.

Once they’re down there, the woman speaks again. Her voice is rough and low, with some sort of northern accent. “Name’s Sabine,” she says. “What were you locked up in there for?” She eyes him over. “You’re a doctor, right? What did’ya do wrong?”

Every word spoken is heaved up from within the depths of Lenny’s staticky brain. “L-Lenny,” he says first, as introduction. “I – I snuck p-people down h-h-here. H-Harry didn’t – he didn’t like th-that.”

They arrive at a major fork in the tunnel. Lenny points down one direction, and Sabine follows. She’s eerily quiet, her light boots making no noise on the metal grates. They walk in silence until they come across another fork. Lenny points, but his throat has closed up again.

“The Vault is that-a-ways?” Sabine asks, and receives a nod in return. “Listen, Lenny, thanks a bunch for all o’ your help. I’m going to go down there and get the water chip, then I’ll be back up this same way to fix th’ water pump.” She seriously looks at him, her blue eyes dark and grim. “Then I’m gonna blow up the Master’s whole shit, and these mutants are gonna go hogwild on all you folks. You’d best get outta here.”

Lenny nods. Something bold and brave in his heart yells at him to talk to this woman more, to go with her, maybe. But he can’t. The echo of eight days spent alone and going mad still thrum in his ears, and he can’t.

He can’t. He will never be able to. Lenny turns his back on the Vault Dweller and slips into the labyrinthine tunnels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me planning to write this: so I'm not going to hurt Lenny at all, he's going to be totally fine-  
> Me actually writing: so what are the effects of solitary confinement? How much does a broken rib hurt?


	3. On the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: kidnapping, mild injury, mentions of psychosis and depression, character unable to distinguish fantasy and reality.

Despite the mysterious Vault Dweller’s warning, not all of the ghouls make it out alive. Lenny has time to help sneak twenty non-ferals out from the tunnels before the super mutants make their move. He’s coaxing some of the reluctant Glowing Ones out of the Vault when they hear gunfire from above.

“Aw, shit,” Hank says, his eyes glowing green in the dark tunnel. He grabs Lenny’s arm. “Shit, shit shit-”

Lenny shakes off Hank’s arm and frantically gestures towards the waiting tunnel. “Go,” he rasps.

“We’ll meet you on the North side by the old laundromat,” Hank says, then quickly hugs Lenny. “Stay safe.”

These days, Lenny doesn’t always have words. Sometimes his tongue gets thick and everything in his mouth sticks together and every word feels like acid bubbling up from his lungs. He nods and runs back into the decaying Vault. In the clinic is a bag packed for this eventuality, filled with first aid supplies and water, precious water, and a little food. Lenny shoulders it and runs through winding tunnels and narrow passageways. He warns the stragglers to run, then makes his way towards one of the hidden entrances close to the North side of Necropolis.

He comes up to find a gun pointed at him, his father’s panicked face behind it. Willie lowers the gun and enfolds his son in a hug before Lenny even has time to realize this is one of the few times his father has ever embraced him.

“Son, I-” Willie releases him and holds him at arm’s length. “Are you okay? The tunnel folk said that that Vault Dweller freed you, but I thought that was maybe wishful thinking. You okay?”

Lenny nods, then looks at the small group of assembled ghouls, all with some measure of supplies. Festus is here with a toolkit strapped to his back. Typhon is at his side, looking pale and grim. In total, excluding Lenny, there are six ghouls.

“I-Is this it?” He asks, stomach churning. There were supposed to be fifteen ghouls topside. The mutants killed that many? Set is isn’t here, nor is his bodyguard. Is he dead?

“This is it.” Festus glances down the crumbling street. “We need to go, now, and meet up with the others.”

Lenny takes a deep breath, then another. Their home has fallen apart again, and it’s time to move on. “L-Let’s go.”

* * *

A week of hard travelling puts them in the vicinity of several major settlements, all of which they skirt around. They’ve long since learned that they’re not welcome. Less than thirty ghouls made it out of Necropolis, and they’ve lost three more already. The Glowing Ones are getting restless, jittery. Two non-Glowers have gone feral.

A week after that, they decide to split into two groups. They promise to meet back up at the foot of the Northern mountains, but taking different paths to move faster and more thoroughly explore the area. This area is filled with patrols of some new government called the New California Republic, and while they aren’t outwardly hostile towards ghouls, it’s obvious that they don’t look fondly upon them. They should move on, but everyone is looking forward to finding someplace permanent to settle down.

“We’re goin’ with you,” Hank firmly says, even as Lenny opens his mouth to argue. The other group needs an engineer, but both Festus and Hank insist upon travelling with Lenny. Their group was already lopsidedly big before, but now it’s even more so. “Brian can handle anything of theirs that needs fixin’.” He puts an arm around Lenny’s shoulders and squeezes, but it’s not mildly threatening like Set was, it’s protective. “We’re not leavin’ you, Doc.”

Festus takes Lenny’s other side. “Couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to, Lenny. We’re sticking together, for better or for worse.”

“O-Okay.” Lenny sheepishly smiles. He’s not used to having people look out for him. He doesn’t have a lot of useful skills for the wasteland. He can’t shoot a gun, he’s not the best at stealth, and sometimes he feels useless as a doctor, even when he knows a patient was doomed before they even reached him. “Ty-Typhon, good luck.”

“You too.” Typhon has gotten more grim since his father’s death. He’s assumed informal leadership of his half of the group. “If you guys aren’t at the mountain base by two weeks from now, we’re moving on. You should do the same.” He nods at them, then turns and whistles at the small group. “Let’s head out.”

That group of ghouls departs. This leaves Lenny, his father, Hank, Festus, and about fifteen others. Lenny knows this group well, and is keenly aware of each person’s strengths and weaknesses. They’ve got a strong engineering team, between Hank and Festus’ experience with nuclear devices, and Skeeter’s proficiency in tinkering.

They camp out that night in the shadow of a ruined radio tower. It’s not strictly necessary for anybody to sleep, so the concept of taking watch is more of an informal thing. Willie volunteers to climb up and keep an eye out for possible threats. Hank and Festus are both asleep, leaving Lenny and a few others around the meager fire. Lenny, as he passes Hank to sit by the light, notices that he’s shivering, as are the other Glowing Ones. They’re going to start getting irritable without a source of radiation and warmth.

“Wasn’t there some sort of nuclear power plant up north?” Skeeter asks, fiddling with some scrap of wire and metal in his hands. He clicks his tongue and twists something with a screwdriver.

“Don’t know,” Wooz mumbles, leaning back against a rock. To his right, Percy and Woody are soundly sleeping, Woody sleeping eerily still while Percy squirms around to try and find a comfortable spot. “Would be great, I’m sick’a all this cold shit.”

“I th-think there was,” Lenny comments. “W-Way further past the m-mountains.” He frowns, trying to remember the map he had seen almost a century ago.

Skeeter yawns and stretches out his shoulders. “Well, I guess we’ll wait and see. Wish we could stop and ask someone, but people seem inclined to shoot us on sight.”

Another voice comes from the dark area outside of the campfire’s glow. Lenny startles, thinking everyone else was asleep, or at least ignoring the conversation. “I still say we should try and bargain with them.”

Wooz sighs and turns. “And, Gordon, I’d like t’ remind ya that we don’t have anythin’ to bargain with. The fuck are you even on about with that?”

Gordon sits up and brushes some sand off his stiff suit. He’s kept the most hair out of anyone, and it’s slicked back into a sleek style. “I’m just saying,” he argues. “It’s something to keep in mind. If we can get our hands on something they want, weapons or resources or something, we could see if we could get something in return.” He shrugs. “Just a thought.”

 _Well, just keep it a thought,_ Lenny wants to say, but his throat closes up, because he’s gotten a little too scared of rocking the boat during these last few weeks. Everyone’s so tense, going a bit stir-crazy from such close-quarters travelling. He’s not in charge here, no matter what people try and believe. He’s not a leader, and he’s in no position to tell someone off.

Those are coward’s words, but maybe those days in isolation have made him overeager to not experience anything like that ever again.

Is he a coward?

* * *

Lenny meets Harold first, by chance.

“-but, according to the 2036 Rulebook addendum released in 2041,” Wooz rambles, walking to Lenny’s left, “that sort of play is illegal, which is what I _said,_ but some people think that that addendum is not canon-”

To Lenny’s right, Jeremy jumps into the conversation. “But you _must_ follow the rules,” he insists in his pedantic reedy voice. “If that addendum was properly filed and released, then all Tragic players, whether they go by the 2036 or the 2052 Player’s Handbook, need to conform to that rule. According to-”

Percy looks back and gives Lenny a sympathetic wince. The charismatic and financially smart ghoul is carrying his close friend Woody on his back. Woody is fast asleep, his chest barely rising and falling. Lenny had long since identified a quirk in the mutation of Woody’s body that, instead of making him not need to sleep, makes him need to sleep twice as much as a normal human. Something about his brain producing almost no hypocretin to keep him awake, opposite of ghouls like Lenny whose systems had gone overboard producing the chemical. He wishes he’d had more time to study Woody to try and find a solution for his narcolepsy, but he’d made no progress. The solution right now was to take turns carrying him so as to not slow down their party.

Lenny has been stuck in this conversation for the last twenty minutes. He’d have moved up to walk with his father, but he needed to stay in the back to watch their rear. Zomak, the biggest and burliest of the group, was guarding their front, but nobody else had as keen of eyes as Lenny to watch their backs.

Twenty minutes of this inane conversation has taken its toll. He needs a break. He crouches to, as he mumbles, “tie his shoe,” fiddling with his worn shoelaces. The others pass him and leave him behind, giving him a few precious seconds of peace and quiet. Finally.

“Hey. Psst.”

Well, that peace and quiet didn’t last long. Lenny snaps his head up to look around him for the source of the interruption. “Wh-Who’s there?”

Someone coughs, a wet hack. Their voice is low and gravelly. It sounds, weirdly, like a ghoul. Was there some other settlement that had gotten irradiated to produce ghouls? “Just a friend. Don’t mean you no harm.”

What steps out from behind an outcropping is…not a ghoul. Not really. Lenny screws up his face, squinting at the newcomer. From the head down, he looks like a ghoul, albeit of a different coloring, more brownish than green. But from the head up…

“Name’s Harold.” Harold gestures to the tree growing out of his head. “And Bob. Now come on, lad, stop staring, haven’t you ever seen a ghoul before? You ever looked in the mirror, or what?” He wetly coughs again, voice crumbling to a wheeze. He sticks out his hand.

“Uh.” Lenny quickly reaches out and shakes Harold’s offered hand. “Lenny. I – I’m L-Lenny. Uh, u-um…”

“Lenny?” Hank has realized that Lenny isn’t behind the group anymore. “Hey, who’re you? Doc, who’s that?”

This gets the rest of the group’s attention. There’s a flurry of questions and introductions. Harold is a natural leader, confirmed when he gets them all moving again with barely a word. He slots into the spot that Lenny had reluctantly filled, taking over the position of leader as easily as transplanting a lily from one pond to another.

Harold is interesting. Harold is clever and charming and always thinking one step ahead, always analyzing. Harold can turn even the prickliest of ghouls to his side. Harold has an unfortunate infection in his throat that Lenny does his best to manage. Harold is affable, he doesn’t resist Lenny’s treatments and sample-taking, his experiments with different wasteland remedies to ease their new leader’s pain. Harold is the complete opposite of Set, and Lenny couldn’t be happier about it.

* * *

But the real test of Harold’s new leadership comes, and Lenny isn’t even there to see it.

Firewood, or fire-twigs as was mostly likely, was his goal for the evening. He, Hank, and Woody, in one of his rare moments of wakefulness, were scouting the nearby area. They were in what could reasonably be considered a forest when disaster strikes.

The Slavers are careful to not injure them. Injured captives are worth less.

They grab Hank first, because Hank is the only one armed. This wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous area. How badly they misjudged. Hank shouts and tries to retaliate, but the burliest Slaver tackles him to the ground and bashes their gun against the side of his head. Hank goes down and doesn’t get back up.

Lenny has time to scream before someone grabs him from behind. They wrap a hand around his mouth and roughly grab his arm. He gets in a good elbow jabbed backwards into his captor’s stomach, and their grip loosens, just long enough to slip away.

“Stop.” The smallest Slaver, a blond woman, steps in front of Lenny’s path. She points a machine gun at his chest. “You’d best rethink your plan of action there, zombie.” Her eyebrows raise. _“Doctor_ Zombie, I see. Well, then you of all people understand how important it is to not be full of bullet holes.”

Staring down the barrel of a gun, Lenny freezes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the Slavers hoist up an unconscious Woody, dragging Hank by his foot. Lenny’s breath quickens. He’s surrounded. Outnumbered. He swallows hard and puts his hands up in a clear gesture of surrender.

“Good.” She smiles. “Glad to see your brain hasn’t rotted too.” She nods at someone behind Lenny. Another Slaver grabs him by the arm. There’s panic in his throat, the desire to fight and flee and run and hide, but he does nothing, because he _can’t_ do anything. “Sylvie, keep that one awake. We’ll have him look at Jason’s arm, then throw him in a cage. Maybe by himself, in case he turns out to be a troublemaker.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Sylvie, a broad-shouldered woman with stringy red hair barely concealing the Slaver tattoo on her forehead, yanks Lenny along with her, not bothering to slow down to accommodate his shorter stride. “He’s kinda quiet,” she remarks over her shoulder as she roughly handcuffs Lenny’s hands in front of him. “But it’s always the quiet ones that cause the most trouble, you know.” She grins, showing off sharpened teeth, then turns to Lenny with that grin turning into a snarl. “So don’t make any problems for us, ghoul, or we’ll put ya down. Be glad to, cause though Mary insisted upon capturin’ you folk, ghouls don’t sell well on the market, ‘cept for labor that needs radiation-resistant slaves.”

Lenny hurriedly nods. That’s him, not a troublemaker. Not rocking the boat. Keeping his head down and not drawing unwelcome attention.

The camp they take them to is small, meant to be mobile at a moment’s notice. There are four tents set up around a campfire. Two brahmin lazily graze nearby, next to an empty cart. Around the cart are clusters of cages. There is one cluster of four large cages grouped together, then two smaller ones a little ways away. The small ones, instead of just having bars, also have cloth draped over them, obscuring the view of anything inside.

Mary instructs the Slaver holding Woody and Hank to put them in one of the big cages, then demands that Lenny examines a man named Jason’s injured arm. Lenny, torn between his doctor’s urge to help and the desire to not help these people at all, stammers his way through an explanation of how to better use a Stimpack to prevent infection of the wound. This satisfies Mary, who claps her hands and instructs Sylvie to put him away.

The four big cages are not all empty. In one is Hank and Woody, both still unconscious. Hank is stirring, though Woody is completely still. In another are three humans, all of them men. They would be muscular if not for the fact that they were withering away, likely from exhaustion and hunger. The third cage has a body in it. Lenny can’t tell from this distance whether they are alive or dead. The fourth cage is empty.

He thinks that Sylvie is going to put him in that one, but instead she steers him towards the covered cages. The panic that had been buzzing in his ears starts sparking in his eyes. He – if they put him in there, he might be able to hear someone, but he’d be too far away to talk to his friends, and he wouldn’t be able to see them to verify that they were even there, that he wasn’t totally alone-

“Whoa!” Sylvie barely holds onto him, and it takes the feeling of cold earth under his knees to realize he’s collapsed. “Ma’am, he’s freaking the fuck out!”

“Well, what did you expect?” Mary retorts, like she’s coming from miles away. All Lenny can hear is his own panicked breaths, and what sounds like a high-pitched static whining noise. “We’re putting in him a goddamned cage, do you want him to be happy about it?”

“Well,” Sylvie tugs on Lenny’s arm, but he’s gone limp, vision blurring and doubling. He’s not getting enough oxygen in, he’s freaking out too much to properly breathe. “I kinda thought he was doin’ pretty well up ‘til now.” She grunts and tries to pull Lenny up, but fails again. “Fucking hell, ghoul. What made you freak out all of a sudden?”

It takes Lenny what feels like minutes to speak, though it’s only a few seconds. “N-Not alone,” he stutters, his voice an unintelligible raspy mess. “Don’t – p-please – not alone-”

“Okay, fuck this,” Mary says, voice tight and irritated. “Sylvie, we don’t have time for this. Could you just-”

That’s the last thing Lenny hears before something collides with the back of his head.

* * *

He wakes up alone. Not – not alone – not again-

Calm down. Focus. He can hear things, real things. Lenny can hear voices: a few feminine, a few deeper masculine voices. The Slavers, nearby, around the campfire.

He sits up and groans, holding his throbbing head. “C-Concussion,” he says aloud, then tries to stand. His legs are shaking and won’t support his weight. His handcuffs jingle. “Any o-other injuries?” He checks his ribs and feels for anything more. It feels like he can’t really see, the fabric draped over the cell walls blocking out everything, making curtains of his eyelashes. “No – no o-other injuries. I’m fine.” He licks his withered lips. “You – You’re fine. We’re fine.”

What to do now? Lenny takes a deep breath, then another, then his calm fails him. He spends a solid five minutes screaming, hands covering his mouth to muffle the sound. He doesn’t calm down so much as he simply runs out of energy, and lays on the floor of the cage on his side, palms pressed over his eyes.

He passes out like this, which is probably for the best.

* * *

Lenny is awake, and he’s already starting to hallucinate. Last time that took a few days, but it’s already going at full blast. “H-How long has it been?” he mumbles. “Not – not that long.”

The cage door is open. The fabric over the walls has been pulled back. Someone is kneeling over Lenny, gently touching his head. His father.

“W-Weird,” Lenny says to himself. His dad isn’t known for being gentle. That’s how he knows this is _really_ a hallucination. “But o-okay.” If this is what his subconscious has come up with to comfort him, then the least he can do is enjoy it.

His father, Willie, startles when he speaks. “Hey, he’s awake!” He turns and waves at someone outside of the cage. “Harold, Lenny’s awake!”

Lenny blinks and Harold is at the door. “Thank goodness,” Harold says, kneeling at Lenny’s other side. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

Time for his best medical diagnosis. It’s a good distraction to keep himself from falling into despair. “Concussion is s-still present,” he flatly says, half to himself, like he’s studying for a test. Fully to himself, really, because he’s alone. “No o-other physical symptoms. Mental c-condition has rapidly d-deteriorated, indicative of permanent p-psychological damage from first e-encounter. U-Unclear if we will be able to f-fully recover, but u-unlikely. Requires c-counseling if available. If not, must seek c-comfort and c-company of others when – if – wh-when-” With a great effort, Lenny pushes down panic. He _is_ going to get out of here. He’s going to be fine. “We’re going to be fine.”

“What?” Harold quietly rasps. “Lenny?” He looks up at Willie. “What’s going on with him?”

“I don’t know.” Willie is ashen, his eyes wide. With a grunt, he helps Lenny sit up. “He’s not all there. Something to do with the time those mutants locked him up. Hank might know more. Come on, let’s get on the road and we can talk there. I don’t want to stay too long, in case those fuckers had back-up.”

Lenny lets him and Harold haul him to his feet. His head is buzzing with what feels like a thousand flies, clogging his throat and ears. They lead him out the door and into the dark night. All around the camp are corpses of dead Slavers. No ghoul bodies. Somehow, they ambushed this more heavily-armed group with great success. Considering the fighting capacity of their group, it must have been due to Harold’s expertise and planning that everybody emerged unscathed.

Wooz, Gordon, and Jeremy are picking over the Slaver’s corpses and tents, scavenging material. Percy is propping an unconscious or asleep Woody up on a rock, inspecting the back of his head for injury. Skeeter, Zomak, and the rest of the group are guarding the perimeter of the camp.

“Hey.” Lenny blinks and Hank is standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “Willie said you weren’t feeling so great.” Hank takes something from the ground next to the cages and slings it over Lenny’s shoulder. His pack. “Are you good enough to travel? You’re up and walking.”

Lenny nods. Those flies are still choking him. The silence in his ears is starting to strangle his mind as Hank puts an arm around his shoulders and steers them towards the rest of the group. They walk for a few minutes in silence.

“Don’t l-like it.”

“Hm?” Hank turns to him. “Don’t like what? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t l-like. Too quiet.” Lenny reaches up to tap Hank’s hand where it rests on his shoulder. “K-Kinesthetic and tactile too this time. W-Weird.” It really does feel like he’s walking with Hank next to him.

Hank frowns down at him and says something, but Lenny can’t hear or understand him, the static in his mind eclipsing everything, and that feels pretty nice and quiet. Hank sighs and makes sure Lenny keeps walking in the right direction.

* * *

He’s still in that small cage. Lenny _knows_ it, even if his mind insists upon not being there, on being out of it.

Right now, he thinks he’s sitting around a campfire with his head in Percy’s lap. Curled against Percy’s side, a blanket tucked over his shoulders, is Woody, fast asleep.

“How’re you doin’?” Percy asks, rubbing Lenny’s shoulder. “You still look a little in shock, like you don’t think any of this is real.”

“Well, th-that’s because it i-isn’t,” Lenny defends.

Percy’s face falls. “What? Of course this is real.”

“Mm-hmm.” Lenny patronizingly hums, drowsily yawning. He’d better get some sleep, to pass the time if nothing else. “If you s-say so.” That’s what his mind would come up with to comfort himself. Denial is a warm blanket of half-truths and mostly-lies.

“No, Lenny, listen.” Percy is getting agitated. “Talk to me, buddy. Do you not think any of this is really happening? What’s going on?”

This is where all of the research that Lenny had done before the War comes in handy. He starts talking, rambling like he would if he was studying with a classmate. “Side e-effect of isolation,” he starts. “W-While the anxiety and d-depression are t-treatable, though not reversible, h-hallucinations occur after an u-unspecified period of time. O-Often affecting multiple senses. Happened last time, and now a-again too. Unavoidable. Effective coping mechanism gone w-wrong.” He yawns again, stretching and basking in the fire’s heat. “W-won’t last long, not after sleeping. Snap out of i-it, or move o-on to some other h-hallucination. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

Speaking of, he might as well go to sleep. The last thing Lenny sees before closing his eyes and curling up is Percy staring down at him, eyes wide with horror.

* * *

The next morning brings more of the same. They get on the road, trudging along in the early morning light. It’s cold, but Harold quickly pulls the blanket from Lenny’s pack and drapes it around his shoulders.

“There,” Harold rasps. “You hold onto that blanket now, good an’ tight. Gotta keep you warm.” He arranges Lenny’s hands on the blanket edges, keeping them pulled in towards his body. “Good. Now stay like that.” He gently steers Lenny towards Gordon. “Gordon, he’s still out of it. Make sure he’s walking in the right direction and doesn’t trip over anything.”

Gordon nods and takes Lenny’s elbow. His slicked-back hair glistens in the early morning sun, and Lenny fixates upon it for a few seconds longer than normal. “Sure thing,” he says. “Let’s go, Doc.”

While they walk, Harold joins Hank, Willie, and Percy near the front of the group. The four of them converse quietly, shooting concerned glances towards Lenny.

“O-Obviously a manifestation of my sub-subconscious concern,” Lenny mutters. “I’m getting w-worse.” He’s certainly not getting better.

“Hm?” Gordon looks down at him.

Lenny shakes his head. “Nothing.”

A few hours later, they stop to rest for a moment. Wooz and Zomak peel off to secure the location, and the rest of them rest their weary legs. Lenny sits on the rock that Gordon had settled him onto, feeling like he’s two steps to the left of where he thinks he is right now. Everyone’s acting weird, like they’re walking on eggshells around him. It’s strange. It doesn’t match up with what he’s hallucinated before. Would his brain have come up with this?

That moment of doubt starts worming its way into his thoughts. He tries to dismiss it. If he starts believing that all of this is real, then the shock that will come when he wakes up to find that it was just a hallucination will be too much. He can’t do that to himself. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Not – not real,” he whispers to himself. “Impossible.”

“Hey, there.” Harold has joined him. Harold pulls Lenny off the rock onto the ground, where they both sit. “How you doin’, Lenny? Check in with good ol’ Harold.”

Harold is obviously his mind’s idea of a counselor, of someone who is there to check on Lenny and help him process what he’s going through. “Doin’ fine.”

“No you’re not.” Harold takes Lenny’s hands and rubs them. “We know you’re not fine. Percy told us what you told him last night.”

What Lenny told Percy last night? Lenny screws up his face in a frown. He doesn’t really think that that would carry over, assuming that he would have forgotten about that.

“About not thinkin’ any of this was real,” Harold gently prompts. “How’re we doin’ on that front? Any changes?” He pauses to hack and catch his breath. “Unfortunately, you’re the only one with any sort of medical training. Any ideas on what’s goin’ on with you?”

Lenny nods, then yawns. “Normal d-depression exacerbated by p-previous isolation-caused trauma.” He yawns again and leans back against the rock at his back. “Such prolonged psychosis is a – is a new one.”

This diagnosis displeases Harold. “So tell me where you think you really are, Lenny.”

“The S-Slavers,” Lenny pauses to lean forward and put his head between his knees as a wave of panic crashes over him. “A-Alone – they put me a-alone-” He straightens and takes a shaky breath. “We’re fine. Alone. Fine.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Lenny.” Harold coughs, his withered chest rising and falling. “I know you’re not going to believe me, because you’ve somehow convinced yourself that this isn’t real. But all I am going to tell you is that by my own perceptions, you are here with us. We killed the Slavers. A clever ambush that involved guerilla tactics and use of the terrain to overcome the odds.” He squeezes Lenny’s hands. “This is difficult for you to believe, but please try. For Harold. For all of us. We’re worried about you.”

Lenny stares at he ground as Harold speaks. A few of his words make their way into his brain and stick. Maybe – maybe he’s not – maybe this isn’t-

Harold reaches forward, worried, as Lenny wrenches his hands out of Harold’s grip. Lenny covers his face and slumps forward. “I’m so – so fucked up,” he whines, high and hysterical. “Wh-What’s wrong with me, wh-why am I so _broken-”_

“Hey,” Hank has noticed the commotion Lenny’s causing. He sits behind Lenny and wraps his arms around him. “Stop that talk. You’ve survived more shit than the rest of the us combined. You’ve gone through things that would have killed someone else five times over. So don’t – don’t act like you’re weak.” Hank hums and glows a little, letting some of his dwindling radioactive warmth seep into Lenny’s body. “You’re not weak. You’re going to recover from this. I promise.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so Lenny sobs into Harold’s shoulder until he starts dozing. He half-sleeps as he’s set on someone’s back (Hank, probably, based on the warmth), and the group gets on the road again.

* * *

Time helps. Time heals.

They reach the mountain base four days later and wait there for two days. But the other group never arrives.

Discouraged but holding true to their promise, they leave a note, then leave.

* * *

One morning, while the lights of New Reno are still in view, Lenny wakes up to find his father gone.

“Said he wanted to see the city,” Zomak says, apparently unconcerned. The burly ghoul crosses his arms. “Said he will catch up.”

“We – We should wait-”

Gordon puts a hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “No. He said he’ll catch up, which means he doesn’t want us to wait for him. We should go.”

“But-”

“He’s gonna be fine,” Harold reassures. “He knows what he’s doing. Winter is on its way. We need to find permanent shelter, and fast.”

 _If you say so,_ Lenny thinks. Privately, he disagrees. Willie’s always been a little reckless, unheeding of the consequences of his actions.

Willie never catches up.

* * *

They get out of the mountains and onto the flat wasteland. A glitteringly sleek city comes into view, and they skirt around the edges. If the NCR down south disliked ghouls, these people’s feeling is closer to hate. They dispatch another group of Slavers before they get out of this region.

One afternoon, Hank perks up. For a week, the Glowing Ones had been jittery, ready to go feral. The lack of heat and radioactive warmth was driving them up the wall.

“Guys,” Hank says. He looks at the three other Glowing Ones in the group. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel wh-what?” Lenny doesn’t feel anything except tired from all of the walking.

Hank grins, eyes starting to glow. “Radiation. We’re close to something radioactive.”

Percy takes a pair of binoculars from his pack and raises them to his face, scanning the horizon. After a second, he pauses and gasps. “I see something.” He mutters to himself and adjusts the zoom.

“What is it?” Harold wheezes. “What do you see?”

“A power plant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life happened...
> 
> I swear, this chapter was supposed to start in Gecko, but instead I wrote like 5000 words about them travelling. Also, there are so many ghouls in Gecko, I wanted to at least touch on everyone! More of them will be to come once everyone settles into their new home.


	4. Gecko

A year passes, then two, then three and four and five and eight and ten, then twenty and thirty and forty, and the ghouls from Vault 12 still call Gecko home.

The winter of 2206, forty-five years after leaving Necropolis, is a difficult winter that drags on for months. Everyone digs down and more or less hibernates. Of course, they go stir-crazy within the week. It’s a long winter.

* * *

Spring is heralded by an alarm bell and a shout of “fire!”

Lenny hears it from the Manager’s office where he works with Harold. A wailing klaxon starts blaring from the direction of the power plant.

“Wh-What was that?” Lenny looks up from his work.

Harold looks worried. He stands. “I don’t know,” he wheezes. “The power plant, some kind of alarm-”

“Fire!” Someone yells. “In the plant! Help!”

Fire. In the worst possible place for a fire to happen.

Lenny scrambles to cobble together a first aid kit containing burn ointments and respiratory healing materials. He scoops up a fire extinguisher on his way out the wrought-iron door of the Manager’s office. Shouldering open the door, he trips and almost loses his balance, but steadies himself and continues on his way.

From the adjoining building, Wooz sticks his head out the door of the Harp. Lenny barely has time to shout the beginning of an explanation. He’s sprinting for the entrance of the hulking building. A few people are gathered around the entrance, worried. Lenny rushes past them and into the power plant.

Smoke. Darkness, against the bright light of the day. The fire isn’t in here, but Lenny can hear shouts from the left door in the lobby. He rounds the corner at a turn and wishes he had a hand free to cover his mouth. Smoke is rolling from the open door of the supply room, like water overboiling on a stove.

The lights are out here, the eerie red glow of emergency lighting trying its best and failing miserably. The plant was already in bad shape when they found it, and this is only making it worse. What on earth could have happened in here?

“Doc.” Hank emerges from the smoke and darkness. Lenny shoves the fire extinguisher in his hands. His face doesn’t light up, because it’s still not a good situation, but the panicked look in his eyes dims, and his eyebrows loosen. “A fire extinguisher. You’re apparently still the only one ‘round here with brains left.” He rushes back into the room.

Two more figures stumble out of the smoky room, yelling at each other.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jeremy snarls between coughs.

The other person is Skeeter, also coughing. He’s holding his arm. “Sorry!” He gasps. “I didn’t know – how was I supposed to know-”

“You were supposed to not be a moron for five seconds-”

“Nobody could have known-”

“Shut up, b-both of you!” Lenny grabs their arms and shoves them towards the exit. “G-Get out of here!”

Jeremy mostly ignores Lenny, rounding on Skeeter. “Maybe you should stay and fix this fucking mess, since _you_ caused it all!”

Skeeter has run out of defenses and excuses. He shrinks back from the furious Jeremy, still cradling his arm. In the dark, Lenny can’t tell how badly he’s injured.

“Out.” Lenny squares his shoulders and tries his best to put some authority in his voice. “Skeeter, y-you’re injured. Both of y-you have in-inhaled too much smoke.” He puts a hand on Skeeter’s shoulder. “We-we’ll figure it all out later. Outside.” Then, turning to a still irate Jeremy, “I promise. Now. Get. Out.”

Jeremy’s hackles raise, then he sighs and, with a huff, turns on his heel and walks away, shouldering Skeeter out of the way. Skeeter hesitantly follows with an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Alone in the smoke-filled hallway. Two patients outside, maybe more if other people have inhaled smoke. Hank is still inside the supply room. Maybe more people stuck inside. How bad is the fire? Does Hank need help more than the people injured outside?

Before Lenny can make a decision, a figure comes out of the smoky hallway next to Lenny. They are wearing a respirator mask concealing their face, and have a headlamp that cuts through the smoke.

“Doc?” It’s Festus. He’s holding a bundle of respirator masks in his arms. “You okay? What the hell is going on?”

Lenny gratefully takes an offered mask and slips it over his face. The growing pressure in his lungs eases. “Fire. In the s-supply room. H-Hank went in w-with an extinguisher.” He straps on a headlamp and clicks it on.

“I’ll go in and get him,” Festus offers.

“No. You need to keep an eye on the r-reactor.” Even if the fire is only in the supply room, Lenny is worried about it spreading, or affecting the sensitive reactor in some way. “Get e-everyone out. Go to the c-control room.”

Festus looks unsure, but claps Lenny on the shoulder and nods. “I’ll be back,” he promises, and gives Lenny an extra respirator and headlamp.

Without giving himself the time to hesitate and back out, Lenny rushes into the first chamber of the supply room. This room is thick with smoke. A few bundles of paper, likely Jeremy’s precious requisition forms, are on the floor, quickly turning into ash. Lenny kicks the burning bundles into a clear space, then rummages in storage locker after storage locker until he finds a thick blanket. This easily smothers the flames.

First room: clear. No sign of Hank, likely because the real fire isn’t in this room. Flames crackle from the room over.

If the first room was filled with smoke, this room is bursting with it. It’s dark and impenetrable like a thick fog on a cold mountain morning.

“Hank?” Lenny yells, straining his eyes to see through the curtain of smoke. His headlamp is useless. He switches it off and looks around for a green glow that might give away Hank’s position. Lenny steps forward, functionally blind in this room, and his foot hits something. He kneels and feels for the object. It’s a cylinder, metal, smallish. Fire extinguisher. Uh-oh.

 _“Hank?”_ Lenny looks around, frantically searing for a sign of his friend.

He gets an answering cough from the wall to his right. Lenny crawls on his hands and knees, staying low to avoid the worst of the smoke. He can kind of see down here, which is why he catches a glimpse of something glowing green.

Hank is slumped against the wall, weakly coughing. He’s not hacking, it’s not loud or strong. His body is starting to get overwhelmed by all of the smoke. Lenny slips his extra mask over Hank’s face, taking note of the way Hank’s eyes are unfocused, slowly blinking, of the odd way he’s sitting. Lenny has enough medical experience to tell when someone is injured and hiding it. Hank tries to protest as Lenny grabs him under his shoulders and drags him out of the room. Lenny can’t hear him anyways over the sound of his own labored breaths echoing in the respirator mask. Hank is a big ghoul, and heavy.

Finally, they get out into the hallway. Lenny drops Hank to the floor then stands for a minute with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath and bemoaning the ache in his arms and legs. But there’s no time to sit here and be tired. He gives Hank a quick once-over to make sure he’s not going to immediately die, then rushes back into the room. That fire is still crackling.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. With the smoke so thick that it clogs Lenny’s eyes and ears, it becomes almost impossible to find the actual source of the fire. The smoke is pressing down on him, enclosing him in a bubble of darkness and heat, and he’s alone, alone, _alone-_

The fire. Lenny manages to track it down to some sort of gadget. It’s plugged into the wall and shooting flames from the gaps in its cobbled-together frame.

Step One: unplug it. Step Two: take the fallen fire extinguisher and aim it at the object. Lenny winces at the slightly bitter smell. Nobody in this hostile world makes fire extinguishers anymore, and this one was probably a bit out of date. But it is working, albeit not as well as a fully-functioning one.

The fire is all but out. Step Three: ensure that there are no other sources. Lenny stamps out some lingering flames, and uses the extinguisher again on a nearby table that has caught fire.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps, almost dropping the extinguisher.

“Just me!” Festus says. His headlamp is doing as good of a job as Lenny’s was. “The fire?”

“Mostly o-out!” Lenny looks around. “C-Can you take it f-from here?”

“Sure.” Festus takes the fire extinguisher and disappears into the smoke.

Time to get the hell out of here. Lenny’s done playing firefighter; he has patients to help. People to heal. A job to do.

Of everyone affected by the fire, Hank is the worst. Skeeter is the next one in need of medical attention, and Jeremy is mostly uninjured.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Skeeter says, babbling out an explanation to Harold in the Manager’s Office. “I was trying something out, and I thought it was fine, but then it caught fire! And I – I didn’t know what to do, and I tried to hit the off switch, but I burned my arm, and I – I didn’t – it spread-”

Harold makes a motion with his hand, and Skeeter shuts up. “Jeremy has already told me what happened, in his own,” Harold wheezes, “his own angry way. But I needed to hear your story too, of course.”

Skeeter wrings his hands. “And? What have you decided?”

Lenny, listening in from the tiny medical wing of the building, catches Harold’s deep sigh. “Jeremy doesn’t want to ever see you in _his_ storage room again, and quite frankly he doesn’t seem like he ever wants to interact with you at all. But we’re not, geez, kickin’ you out or nothin’. You can stay, Skeeter.” Then, in a lower tone of voice, tinged with amusement. “I would personally advise you to stay far, far away from that particular wing of the power plant.”

“Can do.” Skeeter’s still shaky, but he seems less in shock. “There’s some room out in the junkyard, past Percy’s place. I’ll stay there for now.” He sticks his head in the medical area. “Thanks for patching me up, Doc.”

Lenny is wrapping Hank’s arm. He looks up and nods. “Stay s-safe, Skeet. And three h-hours of radiation, remember. Doctor’s orders. Give Festus y-your prescription.” Since access to the inner reactor was limited, Lenny had started writing prescriptions for patients who needed a higher dose of radiation than normal. It was a weird thing to write prescriptions for, but it worked. Three hours would be enough to make sure Skeeter’s arm was healed, but Hank would likely need eight or nine hours.

“Sure thing, Doc.” With a weak wave, Skeeter leaves.

Alone. With Hank bandaged up, no patients to treat. Lenny sits heavily in a chair and coughs. He might need an hour or two of reactor time too.

But they’re out of danger. Safe. For now.

* * *

“Vault City.” Gordon spits the name like a curse.

Wooz nods and grimaces. “Buncha loser bastards, if you ask me.”

Lenny rests an elbow on the table of the Harp’s main eating area and sighs. Someone had tried to trade with their neighboring city, and had gotten rejected. Harshly. The people there _really_ don’t like ghouls.

“Same.” Gordon runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. Everyone in Gecko has severe hair jealousy regarding Gordon, who has kept almost a full head of hair. “And imagine all of their fancy tools, their cool medical equipment and technology. Ugh, if only we could trade with them. Give them some power, or something.”

Wooz barks a laugh. “Hah, what? Like they’d want a piece o’ this half-functioning mostly-broken piece of shit power plant? Besides, we can’t very well bargain with ‘em if they start shootin’ us on sight, now can we?”

“Still.” Gordon shrugs. “Just a thought.”

Lenny frowns down at the table. Gordon is always going on about such “thoughts”. Always conspiring, scheming to find a way into the alliance of some group or another. How can we trade with the Slavers, could we strike up a deal with that Brotherhood group, would the Hubologists be interested in an agreement-

Well, Lenny’s not going to join in on this conniving politics. He stands and leaves the bar. The cool air of an approaching winter bites at his arms through the threadbare fabric of his lab coat.

The lights of the power plant are on, giving everything a warm glow. Lenny stretches and looks up at the hulking structure, the bright Poseidon Oil sign a comforting sight.

This is home. It’s just them. They don’t need anyone else.

* * *

Harold looks serious. He corners Lenny in the office they share. “Dear boy, we need to talk about something.” Harold calls him ‘dear boy’ like that sometimes, as if everyone isn’t mostly the same age. Sixty-five years of living in Gecko have only strengthened their friendship.

“Y-Yeah?” Lenny turns from his paperwork. “W-What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ wrong, nothin’ wrong, not really. Was just worried about, well you know with these raiders stopping by every so often and not bein’ so nice, was worried that you’d be caught unawares, and that you wouldn’t be armed.” Harold slides a semi-auto pistol over the table. A few clips of ammunition are set down next to it with a quiet plunk of metal against wood. “Thought you should have this. Know you’re not a fighter, but just in case.”

Lenny rubs the cold metal of the gun. “But-”

“No buts now-”

“But I don’t know h-how to shoot a gun,” Lenny quietly finishes. Over a hundred years, and he had never bothered to learn.

“Oh.” Harold stares at him, then hacks one of his nastier-sounding coughs. When he recovers, he frowns. “Hm. Didn’t think this wasn’t going to be a problem. Not a great teacher myself, not bein’ a fighter an’ all. How about you go find Zomak and ask him. He’s our best shot, maybe he can teach ya a couple o’ tricks.”

Okay. Find Zomak. Easier said than done. Lenny can count on one hand the number of times he’s interacted with the burly ghoul. One hundred years, and he barely knows the guy. Lenny checks the power plant first, then pokes his head into the Harp. No luck.

“Thought I saw him walk by at some point,” Woody says, his head pillowed in his arms, which are resting on the counter of the Survival Gear Locker. Next to him, Percy is working on a ledger of his small business’ finances. “Don’t remember if that was today or not, but I’ve been awake all day, so maybe it was today.”

“Oh. Wh-Where was he going?”

Woody shrugs and yawns. “I dunno. Out towards the unfinished reactor, I think. Hangin’ out in the tunnels. Could ask Skeeter, maybe he knows.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Skeeter says the same thing, albeit with more confidence. Onto the unfinished reactor building, then. Easily the creepiest building that Lenny’s ever been in. There’s something about the wrecked shell of the reactor in the middle of the room, of the deep shadows in the expansive empty room, that makes him shiver. He quickly crosses the room and climbs down into the access tunnels.

“H-Hello? Zomak?” The access tunnels are dark, claustrophobic. Lenny keeps one hand on the damp wall. He can hear his own breath, but something else is causing noise too, something enormous and alive and breathing and-

“H-Hello?” He repeats, voice even shakier. “Is someone – or – something – there?”

Whatever this thing is, it lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh. Lenny feels something move in front of him. As his eyes adjust to the lack of light, he can faintly see a shadow twice his height. It’s hulking and breathing and it lowers its gargantuan head, and something like whiskers brush Lenny’s head-

“Lenny?” Zomak, gruff. “What’re you doin’ down here?” He puts his hand on Lenny’s shoulder.

It takes every ounce of calm Lenny possesses, and then some, to not scream in surprise. Instead, he jumps and whirls, feeling rather than seeing Zomak behind him. “S-Sorry! Looking for you. H-Harold said – he asked me to ask you-”

That thing is still there. Lenny grabs the ladder. “W-We’ll – let’s talk upstairs.”

Zomak follows. “Was cold down here anyway.”

Upstairs is better. Even the eeriness of the room is nothing to what lurked below.

“Hm.” Zomak’s default response to anything asked of him, when Lenny explains Harold’s request to teach Lenny. “Can do. Can try.”

This takes them to the junkyard behind Skeeter’s garage, in between the rusted cars and piles of, well, junk. Zomak sets some stuff up, then gives Lenny a run-down on how to load the pistol. He puts the gun into Lenny’s hands and tells him to turn off the safety.

“Aim at a bottle,” he instructs, looming over Lenny’s shoulder. His voice is muffled in Lenny’s ears by the pair of headphones over his ears. Normally, Zomak’s presence would feel somewhat comforting, since it meant that he would fuck up any enemy, but right he’s kind of freaking Lenny out.

“O-Okay.” Lenny adjusts his grip, fingers slipping on the cold metal. It feels clumsy, his two hands somehow both too small and too large for the weapon. He aims and, behind his tinted cracked safety glasses, half-closes one eye, then fires.

It misses by a pathetically large margin. Zomak says nothing. Lenny looks up at him but receives no visual response either. He turns back to the targets. He’ll…try again?

The next shot is better, hitting the wood of the table that the bottles are sitting on.

Without warning, Zomak kicks Lenny’s foot.

“Wh-What?” Lenny looks up, confused. He lowers the gun, because if nothing else he’s learned a bit of gun safety from the countless times that someone (usually Wooz or Gordon) has been irresponsible.

“Feet.”

Oh. Lenny adjusts his stance. He shakes out his shoulders and aims again. This time he hits a bottle and internally cheers. Zomak says nothing, fixing Lenny with a flat stare. Then he moves, slowly as not to startle someone holding a gun, and peels Lenny’s left hand off the pistol.

“Uh-” Lenny squirms as Zomak holds that hand behind his back, gripping tight to his other shoulder. Zomak’s hand easily wraps around his slender wrist and Lenny suddenly gets a panicky fluttering feeling in his chest that screams danger. But he pushes it down. He’s just easily intimidated, is all. Zomak has travelled all that long way with them. He’s a regular citizen of Gecko. He doesn’t cause trouble, he doesn’t bully people. Sure, he’s quiet and big, but he’s not dangerous. Unlike some of the other bodyguards of Necropolis, too, he wasn’t ever really on Set’s side, and that’s a huge point in his favor for Lenny.

With this thought in mind, Lenny takes a few calming breaths and nervously adjusts the gun in his now one-handed grip. He raises his arm and winces at the visible shake in it. First shot misses. Second shot misses by more. Third is no better. He pushes through the disheartening ache in his gut and tries again.

Sixth shot hits a bottle, which shatters with a crunch. Still Zomak says nothing, but he does let go of Lenny’s hand. Then he pries the pistol from Lenny’s grip and puts it in his left hand before taking his right hand.

“But I – I’m right h-handed-” Lenny starts to protest, and only gets a raised brow in return. Guess he’s going to have to learn to shoot with his weak hand too.

It takes thirteen tries this time. Even then, the bullet barely grazes the bottle, leaving a large splintering crack in the murky surface of the glass.

“Lenny.” Zomak lets go of him and steps away. There’s a small note of approval in his voice, but above all he looks curious, nervous. “Do you ever wish we could go back?”

“Wh-What?” Lenny sets down the gun and finds he has nothing to do with his hands. “Go back? To what? Wh-Where?”

“Not where. Back to being human again.” Zomak is staring at him, too intense, and Lenny reads between the lines. “Brain has showed us the way. The light from the darkness. Do you not wish for a better life?”

Lenny’s already shaking his head, even as he shivers. There _was_ something down there. Something that has been talking to Zomak and others, putting ideas in their heads. Some crazy idea about becoming “human” again, like they were unredeemable monsters now, like their lives were a pit of despair.

“You are really okay like this now?” Zomak asks, stepping a little too close. Lenny jumps back, because when people try to get him in on their weird plans, it is never a nice request. “You are happy? Withering away, a zombie shunned by society? You are really _fine,_ Lenny?”

In an odd contrast to earlier, it’s Zomak who is doing all the talking, and Lenny who is lost for words. He nods his head. “I – I’m fine,” he manages to croak. “Th-Thank you for t-teaching me.”

Then he runs. He’d like to say it was dignified and calm, but it’s more of a panicked fast-walk back to the Manager’s Office. He’s not getting involved. Their crazy plan, whatever it was, was for them and them alone.

* * *

Seventy-five years in Gecko. It’s the year 2236.

Lenny stretches and yawns, basking in the familiar heat of radiation. It’s winter, which means everyone gets scheduled reactor time. Lenny has a bit more than most, because he’s still recovering from last week’s raider attack, which had brought the roof of the Survival Gear Locker down on him when he had ran in to drag unconscious Percy and Woody out. Damned raiders and their grenades.

“So then I told Jeremy that he can shove off with those requisition forms,” Hank is saying, gesturing with a wrench. His head is buried in the casing of some crucial doodad that helps keep the power plant running. Neptunium Infribillator or Impeller or some other sci-fi-sounding name. “I _need_ that part! I’m the tech chief! But he said that even Festus would need forms to get something!”

“W-Weren’t you just a-asking for a torque wrench extender?” Lenny asks, raising his head with a frown.

“Yeah!” Hank almost throws the wrench in the air with the force of his frustration. “Exactly! We have like five! It’s not even a rare part, not like if our plutonium-gamma shield harmonizer went out, or if the Wave Compiler crashed, or if the hydroelectric magnetosphere regular conked out! It’s not even a big deal! Ugh!” He turns back to his work.

The door opens with a hiss. Lenny turns to it, confused. He always tried to schedule himself for times that nobody else would be visiting the reactor. It was quieter that way, just him and maybe Hank or Festus doing repairs. Occasionally he’s completely alone, but most of the time someone makes a point to stop by, so that he’s not totally a – al- so that he has company.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, hovering over the shoulder of Woody, who is walking forward through the doorway. “Sleepwalking. I’m just keepin’ an eye on him.”

Oh. Lenny takes a closer look and sees that Woody’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s walking with a strange gait. “Tell him to c-come to the c-clinic later,” he orders, voice betraying his worry. Adults rarely sleepwalked, and it wasn’t a super common symptom of narcolepsy.

“Can do.” Percy has to jump to the side as the still fast-asleep Woody suddenly decides he wants to turn on his heel and leave. “See ya later, doc, Hank.”

When they’re alone again, it’s quiet for a while. Hank tinkers and Lenny thinks.

“Do you th-think my dad’s okay?” He asks, quiet. Sounds like a child with the hesitance tainting his usual veneer of calm. “We should h-have – we should have w-waited for him, maybe. Or left a sign.”

Hank takes a minute to respond. “I don’t know,” he finally replies, just as quiet. “We have no way of knowing. It’s been decades. Maybe he’s found a new home. Maybe he’s even met up with Typhon’s group. Who knows?”

“Or maybe h-he’s dead.”

“Yeah.” Hank ducks his head back down. “Or that.”

“We don’t e-even know if Typhon’s g-group is still a-alive,” Lenny points out in a rare moment of pessimism. “They c-could have – anything c-could have happened.” He sits up, sick of this, of feeling so down. The heat in the room is starting to close in on him in a not-comfortable way. “I – We don’t know.”

When he stands, Hank stands too and takes his arm. Not grabs, doesn’t seize his elbow, because Hank knows how much that would set Lenny off. His touch is gentle, light. Lenny could easily pull away if he wanted.

“We never know.” Hank lets go. “But the least we can do is hope.”

* * *

Seventy-seven years. Year 2238.

Smoothskins have started passing through. Peaceful ones. Travelers looking for supplies, caravans curious about the rumors, willing to trade. Things are looking up.

The “Renewal” cult that Zomak had formed has been holding steady. No big moves beyond gaining a few members. The main one being Gordon, who could talk almost anybody into anything. He had approached Lenny, who had quickly rebuffed him with a firm “no”. Things aren’t looking up on that front, but they’re not looking down either.

* * *

Seventy-eight years. Year 2239. Lenny celebrates his one hundred and eighty-fifth birthday. It’s a good year.

Until disaster strikes.

The news stays between them: Lenny, Harold, Festus, and Hank. A terrible secret that they had sworn to keep, as to not alarm everybody else:

The power plant was broken. One of those irreplaceable parts, the hydro-electric magnetosphere regulator, had failed. Hank and Festus had been trying for a week to come up with an alternative solution, but they had nothing. No replacement. No backup plan.

“We’ll be fine at fifty percent capacity,” Festus says. “It’ll be rough, and we’ll be spitting out a lot more radiation, but we might be able to manage.”

“H-How much more radiation?” Lenny asks. “H-How bad?”

“Bad.” If Hank elaborates, Lenny doesn’t hear it. He’s left the Manager’s office to stand before the hulking beast of a power plant. A beast that is slowly dying, with a heart that erratically beats, letting out less and less warmth, until the day when it will stop breathing.

What then? What will they do then? Do they leave? This is their _home._

* * *

Seventy-nine years. The power plant limps on at half capacity. They’re ruining things by even keeping it going. Why not stop? Why not abandon this like they’d left Necropolis behind? Like they’d rejoiced at shunning the Vault that had given them new life?

Year 2240. Time keeps moving, even as they feel like they’re standing still.

Summer brings hot days and burning suns, and Percy. A knock on Lenny’s door. He opens it, curious.

Percy is wringing his hands. “Have you seen Woody?” He asks without preamble.

“No?”

This answer almost brings Percy to tears. “He’s gone. I – I’ve been looking for a week, because I thought he was maybe asleep somewhere or something, but he – he’s not-” Percy’s face crumples. “He’s not in Gecko, Doc. He’s gone.”

That’s not the death knell, of course. They keep searching. Harold musters everyone to search every nook and cranny, and a few braver ghouls scout the surrounding area.

Two weeks later, they give up. Woody is lost. Things couldn’t be more falling apart.

* * *

September 13, 2241. The most eventful day of Lenny’s life in one hundred and sixty-four years, ever since the bombs dropped.

It starts with a visitor, a traveler. But this one is different, because there’s something eerily familiar about her and the tattered jumpsuit she wears. This woman pokes her head into the Manager’s office and starts talking to Harold. Lenny, intrigued by the noise, comes out of the clinic area.

The tray of surgical instruments in his hands clatters to the floor with a clang, scattering scalpels and tiny scissors on the floor.

It’s her. The Vault Dweller, what was her name – Sabine. Except it’s not, because that hero was only human, and this is over a hundred years into the future. But that’s the jumpsuit, with one sleeve ripped off, with that gash in the lower left side that Lenny remembers seeing even in the dim light of the Necropolis sewers. It’s the synthetically bright colors, the garish 13 embroidered on the collar and back.

And the hair. Dark as a cold wasteland night, large tufts puffing out of two braids that reach this woman’s waist. The face, too, echoes the Vault Dweller. Strong nose, dark skin, but eyes that are brown instead of blue, shoulders that are broad instead of slight, a body that is built for hard-hitting fighting instead of stealth.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, breaking Lenny out of his trance. He hurriedly kneels to help her scoop up the fallen material. “Guess you guys don’t get many humans ‘round here. My name’s Carla.” She sticks out her hand to shake.

Lenny slides the tray onto a table and shakes her hand. Not afraid of ghouls at all? Not reluctant to touch them? There’s something in this woman’s – in Carla’s – face that shows her honesty. She’s genuine. But there’s a dark turn to her mouth that betrays her stress. She’s alone in this hostile world, fighting against impossible odds. She’s lonely.

“Lenny,” he introduces himself.

It’s that moment that he decides he will be leaving Gecko with her. Him and Carla, and neither of them will be alone any longer. They’ll try to piece together this shattered world into something resembling whole.

And in the process, they might just fix each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done (maybe!) Would you believe me if I said that this chapter was supposed to START with Carla? I might do one more chapter with some snapshots of their travels (finding Willie, Woody, and Typhon), but this story was mostly supposed to be about Lenny, so I might end it here.


End file.
